


she needs a wild heart (i've got a wild heart)

by BookPirate



Series: i was walking away (but she's so beautiful it made me stay) [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, but only for a couple of paragraphs, i know it's v upsetting to me too, i love sofia so much okay, in which sofia can speak like every language, yusuf is also here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookPirate/pseuds/BookPirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sofia Sartor travelled the world in search of a place to call home. She didn't find it in Italy with her parents, or in any of the other countries she visited, except for Istanbul, in Turkey. She's pretty happy, but she's still a little restless. And then Ezio Auditore comes crashing into her life, and nothing is the same.</p><p>OR</p><p>That Assassin's Creed: Revelations Modern AU literally no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she needs a wild heart (i've got a wild heart)

From the ages of ten to fourteen, Istanbul is home for Sofia Sartor. Her mother is a very important person in an international company, and they move frequently. Istanbul is the first city they’ve lived in outside of their native Italia, however, and Sofia falls in love with it. Everything about the city screams home to her, and she’s heartbroken when they leave to go to Basilicata in Italia again. She strokes the petals of the tulips outside of the Topkapi Sarayı and promises to come back one day.

Sofia reads as much as she can, something her parents both hate and love. After leaving Istanbul, all she does is read, it seems. She inhales works like they were food, big names like Maupassant, Plato, and Cervantes considered bedtime reading, and she reads Heidegger and Nietzsche over breakfast. At first she is bought any book she wants, because her parents are happy at least one of their children like to read. But then they notice she never does anything else, never socialises with other kids outside of the _famiglia_. Her mother in particular tries to push her to make friends her own age, but Sofia snaps back and says, “Maybe if we weren’t always leaving I would want to make some.”

Her parents leave her alone after that, though they soon settle on the outskirts of their native Venezia, within easy driving distance of all her extended family. She is sixteen and part of her hopes that this is it, that the Venezia she was born in is now going to be her permanent home, where she can see her grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins anytime she wants. She goes to school with people who actually know her and her family and it’s great, until it’s not.

So, when the time to apply for university, she applies anywhere but her home town. She tells no one, least of all her papa, who will miss her the most when she’s gone, she knows. The closest she applies to is Roma, but hopes she won’t have to settle for that. So when the letter from University of Chicago comes, that she’s been accepted to study English Literature there, she jumps for it.

Her parents cry, her grandparents cry, her aunts and uncles cry, and she thinks crying is probably a family trait, because even she tears up as she boards the plane for the United States. Her eyes are dry by the time she lands though, and she is more than ready for this new adventure.

Her first three months are extremely difficult. She speaks only Italian fluently, and Turkish pretty well, so she showed up only knowing a few English phrases, and what she thought she understood from reading the original English of _Orgoglio e Pregiudizio_ , but apparently no one talks like that in English anymore, so she’s a little lost. Sofia is not a quitter, though, and never lets on to anyone how frustrated she is at not understanding what’s being spoken around her. She forces herself to read her favorite stories in English, starting with Harry Potter because it’s more modern than the other books she loves.

By the end of her first year she’s speaking English fluently, and at the end of four years she’s also learned Ancient Greek and Latin, or, as much as she could learn at the university. She’s proud of this. With her degree in hand, and some mastery of these new languages, she feels on top of the world.

Her parents beg her to go back to Venezia, but she figures it can wait a while more. She kisses her college friends goodbye as she embarks on a trip to see the rest of the world. She has always been restless since she was little, wanting to see the wonders she reads about. Her family is pretty rich, and she’s got some money saved up from working in the university _libreria_ , so she can afford to take her time.

She starts in Mexico and picks up a bit of Spanish, before moving on to South America and Brazil and picking up Portuguese. She stays in Rio De Janeiro for a month and is surprised at how fast she can fully converse with the locals. Maybe learning a few languages broke some barrier in her brain and now she can speed through other ones, she thinks, and decides to test this theory when she lands in Casablanca, Morocco. She ends up living there for almost two years, because she loves the people and the land so much. French and Standard Arabic are the languages she acquires there, on top of Moroccan Arabic, but the last one is probably useless since no one but Moroccans understand it.

She goes south in Africa and learns more branches of Arabic, before crossing to India and learning Hindi and Urdu. Another few years is spent on the eastern coast of Asia learning Chinese, Korean and Japanese, which are the hardest languages by far. Then it’s off to Russia and Germany, months and years spent among the people, soaking up as much as she can By the time she is done, she has been travelling for ten years, and is confident in saying she knows a dozen languages, and can speak some more shakily. To her, her entire family was talented, her father having the brains for history, her mother for knowing how to deal with people, her sisters for being scientifically gifted and musically gifted respectively. She has always wondered if her gift was just for reading, but now she knows it’s languages, and is proud.

There is something weary in her bones now, though. She has seen many things, some very violent and disturbing. She’s been caught in the middle of chaotic mobs and cities going through political upheavals. She’s learned how to shoot guns, wield a knife, and practice martial arts sufficiently to protect herself. She feels tired, and thinks she needs a permanent home.

She goes back to Venezia first, hoping that this time staying there will stick for her. Her cousins and sisters are all settled now, and she’s seen as the pecora nera. She knows her relatives, including her parents, will start trying to marry her off once the novelty of having her home will wear off. She gives it a month.

Her parents start on about the nice _dottore_ down the street a week later.

In the middle of the night she starts surfing the internet, looking at photos from her trips that she has always been careful to preserve, because she never wants to forget all the people she’s met and places she’s been to, when it strikes her that one of the places she never went to was Istanbul. She almost stands straight up at the realization, cursing herself for forgetting the promise she made to the tulips years ago. She books a flight that leaves in two days.

The only person who seems surprised that she’s leaving again is her mother, because everyone else is resigned to the fact that Sofia was never going to do anything they wanted her to. Her mother, however, is stubborn, and refuses to let her go. “Sofia, what’s the matter with you, eh? You come back for two weeks just to break my heart and leave again?” She is crying and gripping on to the two bags that hold everything Sofia owns in them.

She rips the bags out of her mother’s hands and leaves without speaking. Sofia is stubborn, too.

She lands in Istanbul with enough money to rent a shabby little apartment eight blocks from the Roman Forum. She works three jobs because, even though her parents would never cut her off, she doesn’t want to feel indebted to them anymore. She works as a waitress, a hotel clerk, and, at last, as a _libreria_ employee.

At the last one, it’s just her and an old man whom she calls _Amca_ Hussein. He speaks Arabic, too, so in her off time she sits with him on the chair behind the counter and talks about everything and anything in both Arabic and Turkish. She hates leaving the store, because it’s everything she ever wanted. It’s in an old building, said to have been built in the 16th century, on the foundations of something even older, when the Ottomans were the Kings of the East, and she can feel the truth of it in her bones. It’s three stories tall, and there’s a roof Sofia likes to sit and read on when Hussein gives her time. He gives her _elma çay_ and a blanket when it’s cold out so she can watch the sunset from her perch.

It’s with mixed emotion that she finds out he’s left it to her when he dies two years later. They’d grown very close, and she knew he didn’t have any family left, but it’s still a shock. She deals with the necessary paperwork with tears in her eyes and keeps it closed for a month to try and mourn him like he deserved. She contacts her family for the first time since that nasty fight and she thinks Hussein would be proud, because he'd always poked and prodder at her for her family. Well, she thinks as she calls her family, better late than never.

Her father flies out immediately, as does her youngest sister, and they help her figure out how to run the thing by herself. They stay for three weeks, and Sofia almost hates to see them leave. She cries as she hugs her sister and father goodbye.

He pauses before he heads off towards the terminal he’s supposed to be at to hold her hand securely between his and to look her in the eye. She returns his gaze, and feels sad that her papa looks so much older than he did before.

“ _In bocca al lupo, caro_ ,” he says with a smile.

Sofia laughs. “ _Crepi il lupo, papa. Ti amo._ ”

Her life quiets down after that. She quits her other jobs and moves into the little apartment Ahmed used to live in, which is the entirety of the third floor. She only leaves the building for food and to buy more books. There are street vendors and the Sahaflar Çarşısı not too far from where she lives that she frequents every weekend, spending just enough that now all the merchants recognize her with a smile and a wave. She knows she sticks out like a sore thumb, long, red curly hair, pale skin and bright green eyes, but she’s been living in the city long enough that most people in the neighborhood recognize her, so she’s never pestered like some of the other tourists are.

All in all, she feels like her life is mostly a success. Sometimes she gets restless again, but she’s happier with her _libreria_ than she was anywhere else, and it's not like she can afford to go gallivanting around anymore, so she stays.

She’s sitting behind the counter and rereading some Macchiavelli when the bell above the door rings. She doesn’t look up, because it’s not tourist season so it’s probably just one of the locals and calls out, “ _Merhaba! Beni yardıma ihtiyacınız varsa bize bildirin!_ ”

“ _Grazie mile!_ ” a male voice calls out, gravelly and low.

Her head shoots out of her book and she’s staring in confusion. The stranger is glancing around at the books on the shelves to the side of the door. He’s got scars marring his olive skin, deep hazel eyes and a furrowed brow. He must be a tourist, because she thinks she knows all the Italians that have settled in Istanbul. There’s Maria, nice and friendly, but on the other side of town, Gianpierro, who’s quiet and more interested in his cats than anything else, and Duccio, who’s sort of a dick.

She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking at him and wondering how he knows she’s from Italia. She doesn’t exactly advertise this fact, and likes to think she speaks Turkish with little to no accent. True, she is very fair, but that just means she could be from any European country. He’s well dressed, in a sharp, though strange, suit without a tie, probably at least a decade older judging by the grey in his brown hair and beard, and cuts an attractive profile.

“Excuse me, but do I know you?” she asks, curiously, in Italian.

“No, but I saw you arrive on the same plane I did, from Venezia,” he returns. His accent is from the north, but not Venezia. Tuscano, maybe? She hasn’t been outside of her home town in a while, only flying out to see her family every few months. She has actually just returned from her obligatory trip not two days ago.

She wonders why he remembers her, and why she does not remember him. She thinks she would’ve definitely remembered him. “What brings you to Istanbul?”

“Oh, this and that,” he answers, vaguely. “You?”

She shrugs, apparently as willing to discuss her personal life as he is. “I am running a bookstore, apparently.” She offers a grin and her hand. “Sofia Sartor.”

He comes closer to her and offers his hand. “Ezio Auditore.” He has a firm grip in his handshake, and she can’t help but feel warm towards this fellow countryman.

“Ah! Well, welcome!” She drops his hand and gestures to the rest of the shop. “Please, look around. There are more books on the second floor, but they’re mainly language books, cookbooks, and travel guides. Fiction, philosophy, and everything else are down here.”

“Thank you.” He moves towards the back corner of the store. “I will let you know if I need anything.”

She can’t help but call after him. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t meet many here.”

“Not many come here, I imagine,” he bends to look at a book on the bottom shelf and she can’t help but admire his ass. “You’re a little out of the way.”

He turns around to face her and smiles as she blushes, not having looked away in time. “I like it here, so here I stay.”

He winks at her before he moves from her line of sight further into the shop.

She tries to go back to her book, but she’s excited that there’s another Italian with her in the shop. She thinks it would be weird if she tailed him and talked to him as he browsed for books. She doesn’t really have much of a social life, caring more about her books than anything else. She’s friendly enough with her neighbors, will occasionally meet up with Maria and listen to her complain about her Turkish husband, and will gossip with the waiters and waitresses at the cafè down the street, but hasn’t really had a good friend since Ahmed passed almost a year ago. Plus, his ass looked really great, and she hasn’t slept with someone in six months.

After about half an hour, she decides to at least see how he’s doing. She wanders through the stacks until she stumbles across him, in the very backmost corner with the German philosophers. He’s fiddling with one of the candle holders that the city won’t let her replace with electric ones. “What are you doing?” she asks curiously.  
He steps back slightly and the bookshelf the candle holder is next to swings back. She feels like she might faint. “What the hell?” There’s a tunnel that goes down and down. “What is that?”

Ezio looks at her over his shoulder and smiles. “A tunnel.”

She swats him on the arm as she steps up next to him. “Idiot. I can see that. What does it go to?”

“Should we find out?” Ezio’s smile turns into an excited grin, stretching the scar at the corner of his mouth wide.

She examines him silently for a moment, and his grin fades a bit. “Who are you?” she finally asks.

His grin brightens. “Only the most interesting man in your life.”

“That’s pretty presumptuous,” she says, cheeks flaming.

He sighs and holds up his hands. “My apologies, Sofia. Look, I should go check this out. I’ll be back.”

She grabs hold of his arm. “I want to come, too. After all, this is my shop.”

“Sofia, I promise I will come back and tell you what I find.” He debates for a moment before placing his hand on top of hers as it rests on his arm. “This city is not as safe as you think.”

There is something to his face when he speaks that makes her think she would be better off waiting for him to come back than to go gallivanting off with him. “Okay, if you say so. But if you don’t return, I will have your head, understand?”

“I would expect nothing less,” he says with a smile, before slipping through the dark passage. It closes up behind him, and she sits watching it in anticipation.

Soon enough, however, it becomes clear to her that she’s going to be waiting for a while, so she tries to clear the shop up the best she can, organizing things and sweeping up dust and spiderwebs. Above all, she tries to not dwell too much on Ezio Auditore. She does wonder about why he said Istanbul isn’t as safe as she thinks, and what he would do if he knew she kept a gun in her desk.

There’s only an hour until she officially closes when he reappears, somewhat bloody. She jumps out of her seat behind her desk. “Are you okay?”

He looks at her in surprise, and then back down at himself. “Oh! Yes, I’m fine. None of it is mine.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but is stopped by the sight of the blood disappearing. “What?”

“It’s special fabric. We could talk about it, but” he pulls a map out of his jacket, “I think this will interest you more.”

She takes it curiously, and clears the counter with a sweep of her hand, sending the handful of books on it flying to the floor. She unravels it and examines it. She taps excitedly on a marked spot. “My shop! It’s on here!”

“What else?” he asks, amused. “What about the margins?”

“Symbols…” she murmurs, “and words… lists… of books! Christ, some of these books are rare. I’ve never even heard of some of these but I recognize the authors. What do you think?” She looks up at him suddenly, and he looks surprised, but happy.

He taps the map. “I think a man named Niccolo Polo hid these books around the city, and this is the map to them.”

“I know who Niccolo Polo is.” She huffs, but then smiles. “You know, Ezio, you are beginning to interest me. Vaguely.”

His smile is like the sun and she is momentarily blinded. He steps closer so that their arms are brushing. “I think these are the books I’ll need to find first.” He taps to three different places on the map. “Maybe they’ll have clues as to how to find the next ones.”

“Very curious…” she murmurs again, examining the edges more closely. “Some of these are written in Arabic, you realize?”

He looks down at her in surprise. “You can read Arabic?”

“I can read many things.” She doesn’t mention that some of the rest of the languages she recognizes. She’s really rusty in most of them, the cobwebs gathering in her mind due to disuse.

Ezio runs a hand over his face. “Of course. Someone found the one under Topkapi Palace, I think, but there is still time for the others.”

“Who found the one under Topkapi?” she asks. “Do you need help?”

“Men who do not read,” he answers darkly, before turning to face her. “But I do need your help. Can you decipher the map? To help me find the books? It would have to be done with pen and paper, too. I can’t trust technology these days.”

She looks down at the map again, even though she knows she will say yes. She runs a finger over the dried ink, taking in the moment. There is a hot man standing next to her, looking at her as if his life depends on her agreement. There is a secret tunnel under her libreria, leading to a map and an adventure. There are books in Istanbul to be discovered. “Yes, I will help you, Ezio,” she pauses, waits for him to open his mouth to start speaking before she cuts him off again, “but, only if I can  
read the books once you’ve found them.”

He laughs, and it’s a warm wave washing over her. “We’ll work something out.”

So, for the next few days she does nothing but sit in the shop and work on the puzzles on the map. She’s intrigued and feels like her life is becoming much like the mystery novels she loved to read when she was younger. She can’t just sequester herself in her shop, however, so the Saturday after she meets Ezio, when she gets an email that she’s received a package and it’s at the local _postane_ , she decides to go pick it up in person.

Some time later, following an argument with the clerk and his manager, she is waiting outside the building, somewhat grumpily. She’s just thinking the day could not get any worse, when Duccio appears seemingly out of nowhere. “My darling! How I have missed you! The strings of fate have drawn us together once more.” He places a hand dramatically over his heart, and she represses her urge to either snort or gag. “Two Italians, lost and alone in the Orient. Do you not feel the magnetism?”

The urge to gag is stronger now. “I feel many things, Duccio. Nausea above all,” she remarks dryly, choosing to ignore his casual racism before turning around so her back is to him. She is silently debating on whether she should give her package up for a lost cause and escape, or wait some more and endure Duccio when Ezio steps out of the shadows. She has not seen him since the Wednesday he came strolling into her shop, so it’s a pleasant surprise, even with the disgusting Duccio around.

“Is this man bothering you, Sofia?” he asks, his arms crossed over his usual suit and a scowl on his lips.

“Excuse me, sir, but the lady and I are…” Duccio trails off when he sees who has stopped them. “Ah, the devil himself! Stay back!”

Sofia does actually snort as Ezio rolls his eyes. “Duccio. A pleasure as always.”

“Run, dear lady! Run for your life!” The slime yells over his shoulder as he sprints down an alleyway.

She rolls her eyes and turns to Ezio. “How do you know him?”

“He’s a dog who was engaged to my sister many years ago.” Ezio rolls his eyes. “How do you know him?”

She shrugs. “As you said, he is a dog, who sometimes enjoys sniffing around things he shouldn’t.” She pauses, debates before asking her next question. “What happened with your sister?”

He snorts. “His dick was engaged to six others.”

She can’t help but bark out a laugh. “My apologies, but that doesn’t surprise me. I trust your sister got over it?”

“Very quickly.” He grins wickedly. “He may or may not have a scar on his upper right thigh thanks to her.”

“I think I would like your sister,” she says with a smile.

His grin turns soft. “I think she would like you, too.” He looks up at the _postane_. “So, what are you doing here?”

She sighs, and goes back to leaning against the building. “I was notified that a package came in for me, only to come here and be told they’ve lost it. They told me to wait outside while they looked for it, but it’s been an hour and still nothing.”

He looks at the building some more before turning to her. “Let me see what I can do. I have been known to find many lost things.”

“Have you now?” she asks, amused.

“Yes,” he answers, simply, before giving her a grin. “Go ahead and go home. I’ll meet you back at the shop.”

She watches him walk into the building, only turning to go back when she can’t see him (or his fantastic ass) anymore. Something has shifted in her life since she’s met Ezio, but she can’t put her finger on exactly what. She hopes he sticks around long enough for her to find out.

The shop is quiet when he finally returns, something she’s grateful for, so no one witnesses her behaving like a fourteen-year-old with a crush. “Hi, Ezio. Any luck?”

“To Miss Sofia Sartor, Hussein’in Kitapçı, Istanbul,” he says with a smile as he reads off the label. His Turkish could use some work, but she’s inordinately pleased, until she looks at the package, that is.

“Oh no,” she groans. “Look at the damage. Did they use this to fight off pirates?” She sighs as she opens the container and takes out her map. She unravels it carefully. “Well, thankfully, so far, so good.”

Ezio looks over her shoulder curiously. “What is it?”

“A map of the universe as it stands, currently. I requested my sister get it for me from the United States while she was there.” She examines it more closely. “Beautiful, no? The world is ever expanding. This is much different from the maps of the universe I looked at as a child.”

“History has a strange way of unfolding,” he says. “And to think, the universe will never stop expanding. Or, at least, that’s what the scientists I know say. You’ll have to update your map again soon enough.”

She smiles brightly at him. “It’s incredible, though, isn’t it? The more we learn about things the less we seem to know.” She pauses, and grabs the thing she’s been working on for the past few days from the drawer in her desk. “Well, you honored your promise, so here’s me honoring mine. If we are correct,” she hands him the papers she’s written everything down on, “this should show you the location of the first book.” She takes in a deep breath, trying and failing to contain her joy, and starts pacing in front of him. She’s so excited she might burst. “I must admit, my head is spinning with the prospect of seeing these books. This is knowledge the world has lost! And it should have it again. Perhaps I can reprint a few copies to distribute myself? Only a small amount, maybe fifty? I think that should be enough to start.”

She’s snapped out of her excitement by Ezio’s chuckle.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asks, hands on her hips.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Forgive me. It is a joy to see someone with a passion so... personal and noble. It is inspiring.”

She blushes, and looks away. She is not used to being complimented like this. “Where’s this coming from?”

He ducks his head and avoids the question. “Thank you very much, Sofia. I’ll be back.”

She watches him leave the shop. The blush takes longer to leave, and even longer is the thought of him being inspired by her. She’s pieced enough together to know he must be some sort of dangerous man. Maybe a spy? She wants to know him better, and is glad he’s getting to know her, too. 

“You’re heading into dangerous territory, Sofia,” she warns herself as she prepares herself for bed that night. “Dangerous territory, indeed.”

He comes in almost every other day after that. He sits and chats with her as she works around the shop, trying to work on the map, or as she’s reshelving or balancing her finances. He never talks about his family, or why he’s really in Istanbul, but he does talk to her about politics and the world. She tells him about her life in Istanbul, how she came to own the bookshop, and the places she’s been. Of course, they also talk about books, and she teases him that he’s lacking in his reading habits. Sometimes, they sit together in silence as he reads and she works. It’s still nice, and it’s getting harder and harder to imagine what it will be like when he’s gone. His presence has made her realize that she misses having friends to talk to like this. Once he leaves, she’ll put more effort into building friendships with the people she knows already.

A week after the run in with Duccio at the _postane_ , Sofia is throwing herself into her work. A thief had come late in the night before and stolen a portrait of her family, herself included. It was a graduation present, and painted by a renowned French artist. She is upset about the loss, and has talked to the police, but is pretty much resigned to never seeing it again.

When Ezio walks in, she’s excited to show him what she’s done. “Hey! I’m closing in on two more books. One near the palace and another in the Beykoz district.”

“You should focus on the Beykoz one. Topkapi is a dead end,” he says with a frown.

“Oh, right.” She had forgotten he said that book had already been taken. She thinks to herself what a shame that is.

His lips quirk up. “What do you make of this?” He holds up what looks like a book from centuries ago.

She smiles widely and feels like she’s brimming with happiness. “Oh Ezio, this is incredible! Early coptic binding, and it’s still in good shape! This is unheard of.” She flips through the pages carefully, running her finger down one of the pages. “Third century, maybe? I’d have to test the paper to be sure.”

She is still drinking in the book with wonder when Ezio’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “Sofia, what happened here?”

She looks up, and sees he’s looking at the damaged bookcase her family portrait used to hang above. She sighs. “Every so often, people will break into my shop thinking they can find money, or rare books. I don’t keep them in the shop, though. They’re locked in a safe upstairs. But, it doesn’t stop this from happening. And this time, they managed to take a portrait of some value. It’s awful.”

He frowns. “Keep working, Sofia. I’ll find your painting.”

She frowns back. “Ezio, the thief could be anywhere by now!”

“If the thief came for money, but took a painting, it should be close by. He would be eager to get rid of it,” he reasons, “and the Grand Bazaar isn’t far from here, no?”

She sighs, accepting that Ezio will probably not give it up until he at least tries to find it. “Well, if you find it within the next couple of hours, you can meet me by the Byzantine cistern. I’ll be running errands in that area.”

“I will see you soon.” He smiles and bows as he leaves.

She doubts he’ll get it back, but it’s very sweet for him to try. She closes up the shop and does what she needs to do, before going to the little tea shop across the street from the cistern. She orders her usual _elma çay_ , telling herself she will only give him a half hour before she returns to her shop. She doesn’t want to be the type of girl who sits around and waits for a man, but she does want to give him a chance.

Not even fifteen minutes later he startles her by sitting down at her table. “Hello, Sofia. Is this it?” 

With a small cry she takes the painting from his hands and traces her family’s faces lovingly. “Thank you, Ezio. I was sure I would never see it again. It was a present from my family when I graduated the university. We had to sit still for many days while it was painted, by a man from France. What do you think of it?”

“Well, I have never seen your family before, but in terms of you,” he says with a sly smile, “I prefer the original.”

She blushes from what feels like head to toe. She decides to ignore the compliment. “Here, I have something for you, too.” She pulls out the latest book location from her purse. “And it is not far from here, actually.”

He takes it and places it carefully in his pocket. “Thank you very much, Sofia.”

She gnaws on her bottom lip. She has never been patient, but she can’t wait anymore. She was hoping Ezio would volunteer why he’s doing what he’s doing, but he hasn’t, so she’ll ask instead. She’s been thinking a lot about this, and decides he’s probably a spy. “Ezio, what is this all about? You are not a scholar, that much I can tell. Do you work for the government? Or maybe a different government?”

He gives a small laugh. “Not any government, no. I am a teacher, kind of.” He sighs, and places a hard on her shoulder. She tries to not lean into his touch. “I will explain one day, Sofia, when I can. I promise.” He stands up from the table. “Now, I must go find this book. I will see you later.”

“Goodbye,” she murmurs as she watches him walk away. He’s holding so much back, and she wonders if she’ll ever get to meet the real Ezio.

Another week goes by and Sofia thinks she’s getting far too used to the days like this where she is at the counter working and Ezio is relaxing on a chair in front of it. She looks up from where she’s trying to parcel out the last clue to his head where it’s bowed over the thick tome of Dante she’s given him (“You haven’t read Dante? Every Italian should read Dante!”).

“Enjoying the poem?” she calls out, watching his face for his reaction.

He jumps a little, as if he’s forgotten she’s there. She bites back a smile.”Who were the men he condemned to Hell?” he asks.

She chews on her lip, thinking. “Political opponents, people who he thought wronged him, essentially anyone he didn’t like. His words cut deeply, no?”

“Yes,” he replies, closing the book and standing up. “It’s a subtle form of revenge.”

Her breath catches as he starts walking forward, his face pensive as he thinks about Dante’s words. His shaggy hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, his hazel eyes warm in the afternoon sun. He moves as dangerously as she knows he can be, half predator, half protector. Even if he’s not a spy, he’s exactly what she thinks one should be like. She’s wanted him badly for the majority of their acquaintance. “Ezio, I need to go to Ankara.” She looks up into his eyes as he stops in front of the counter, resting his hands on it after he slides the book he was carrying to the side. “I need to talk with a publisher I work with for local books.”

His brows furrow. “That sounds like… fun.”

“It’ll be quite a few days, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Maybe two weeks. I usually don’t have to meet with him in person but he’s had some issues with his accounts online and wants a physical transaction done.” She snaps her mouth shut, aware she’s babbling. Taking a deep breath, she tries again, looking at the countertop. “I would like it if you would come with me.”

“Huh?”

Sofia can feel the heat rise in her cheeks, and the pang of rejection in her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know you’re busy. I just… Forget it, Ezio.” She feels stupid for how she’s reacting and starts shuffling through the pieces of paper scattered on table in front of her.

Ezio’s hands still hers, though, and she’s forced to look up at him. He looks frustrated, but not at her. “Sofia, I… I really want to be able to come, yes? But my time is running short.”

She looks down at their hands again, and turns hers to give his a squeeze. “I understand.” She sighs and drops his hands. She looks out the window and an idea strikes her. She knows Ezio will probably be gone when she gets back from Ankara, and since he is so adverse to technology, she doubts she will see him again. But maybe she can have one nice memory with him before she has to forget about their adventure. “Ezio, I can finish the last clue before I leave, but could you wait a day? I have an errand to run.”

“What do you need?” he asks without hesitation. “I can get it for you.”

She laughs. “This is going to sound silly, but I need tulips. White ones if you can get them. Is that okay?”

“It’s not a problem,” he replies, a smile on his face.

She leans closer to him, wanting to keep his smile on his face for longer. “Are you sure?”

“It’s a nice change of pace.” His eyes twinkle at her, and she has to remind herself to pull back a little so she can breathe easier.

“Good.” She smiles up at him. “Meet me in the park between the Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque around seven and we can trade. Flowers for information.”

He gives her another smile before bowing his head and exiting the shop. Now she’s going to have to run and pull some strings at the cafè she used to work at, but hopefully the look on Ezio’s face will be worth it.

Seven rolls around and she’s watching the sun set, casting a golden glow on the buildings surrounding the park. She’s stretched out on a bench with a basket next to her, full of Turkish Delight and pastries, and thermos of her favorite _elma çay_ warming her hands. The park is quiet except for a few stragglers making their way to wherever they’re going. The _athan_ will sound in half an hour, she knows, so people are preparing for prayer, too. She's relaxed, and smiles slowly when she hears an Italian phrase over the din of Turkish conversation.

“ _Cos'è questo?_ ”

Sofia turns to see the bewildered look on Ezio’s face as he stands a few feet away. She laughs and pats the seat next to her. “A surprise! And a gift. Sit with me.”

He shakes his head and chuckles as he does what she asks. He pulls white tulips seemingly out of nowhere and hands them to her. “For you.”

“Thank you, they’re beautiful!” Her face splits into a grin that feels like it’s going from ear to ear. She buries her nose in them for a moment, enjoying the smell. He relaxes next to her and she turns to face him. “I wanted to thank you for letting me be a part of your adventure, to tell the truth, even if it’s just a small one,” she admits.

“A small part is enough for this adventure, believe me.” He sighs and rolls his neck before winking at her.

She contemplates him for a moment, before giggling a little. “You are certainly a mystery to me, Ezio Auditore.”

He dramatically places a hand to his chest. “My deepest apologies, madam. I do not mean to be.”

“It’s fine,” she says, blushing. “It’s attractive,” she adds in a soft voice. Might as well let him know what she really thinks, right?

The look on his face is worth it, with wide eyes and high brows. He considers her for a moment before smiling softly and gesturing to the basket between them. “This looks delicious.”

“I would thank you, but I didn’t cook it.” She hands him a pastry before taking one for herself. “The cafè by my store is very good, though.”

The eat in silence for a few moments before Ezio looks as if he’s just suddenly remembering something. “Ah… so, have you had any luck with the last code?”

She might as well tell him the truth now. “Ah, yes. I solved it a while ago. You’ll get it soon enough, Ezio, don’t worry.”

He looks at her, thinking, before throwing his head back and laughing.

Her cheeks redden. “Why are you laughing?”

“Forgive me, Sofia, but you are a very interesting woman.” He smiles at her so she knows he’s not making fun of her.

“Why do you say that?” she asks, curiously.

“You asked me to bring you tulips but,” he gestures to the park, “you are surrounded by them.” Indeed, because Istanbul is famous for its tulips. She’s actually  
surprised he hadn’t caught on sooner.

She blushes and ducks her head, looking at her lap. “Are you mad at me?”

“No. No, I am not.”

She looks up at him to see him looking at her with a new light in his eyes, something akin to affection. She leans forward, impulsively wanting to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, but he straightens at the last minute and meets her lips with his own. It is short and sweet, because they are in public after all, but she is still breathless when she pulls away. He is smiling as he pours them two cups of the elma çay. She is still watching him with a smile of her own as he hands her her cup, and taps his own to it. “ _Salute_.”

“ _Salute_ ,” she whispers back, and thinks that this is either the beginning of something really good, or the end of something that could’ve been an epic.  
She ends up being really only in Ankara for a week, because the publisher puts up less of a fight than she thought. She spends her time between meetings sight-seeing, and thinking about Ezio. They had parted with one final, soft kiss, and thinks two kisses is hardly enough. She hopes he thinks about her, too, and maybe one day she’ll see him again.

When Sofia gets back, a new regular starts to appear in her shop. His name is Yusuf Tazim, and he reminds her of Ezio. He is smart, charming, and loves to talk, bright and excited where Ezio was calm, but the similarities are there, all the same. They even wear similar suits.

“Do you know a man by the name of Ezio Auditore?” she asks bluntly one day, as he peruses her cookbook selection. She’s taken to following him around the shop, speaking to him in Turkish and Arabic, since he knows them both.

He looks at her sharply. “What makes you say that?”

“For one thing, you both wear these suits.” She reaches out and fingers the cuff of his sleeve. “I have never seen material like this before, nor the wrist cuffs you wear underneath.” She taps the leather around his forearm.

He pulls back quickly. “Careful, Sofia. You are playing with fire.”

She frowns at him. “There is this symbol, too,” she says, ignoring him as she points to a triangular shape on his lapel. “Ezio had it over his breast pocket.”

He sighs and gestures for her to sit. She perches on top of one of the lower bookcases to listen to him. “It is not my place to explain to you what we are.” He pauses, tilts his head as he looks at her. “You may have heard rumors recently of a group of vigilantes?”

“Is that you?” she asks curiously.

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” He gives her a wink, though, so that must mean something. “If you really want to know, you should wait for Ezio to get back to explain it to you.”

“He’s coming back?” she asks excitedly.

He frowns at her. “He didn’t say?”

“No, we didn’t talk about his plans.” She sighs, and gets off of the bookshelf. “Come, Yusuf, do you want some tea? And then maybe afterwards you can teach me how to wield a sword.”

His eyebrows shoot up in his face, stretching the scar on his cheek. How is it that every new person she meets has facial scars? It’s a mystery. Eventually he says, “What makes you think I know how to wield a sword?”

She rolls her eyes. “If you want it to remain a secret, maybe find a longer coat. I can see the end of it sticking out when you bend over.”

“Oh.” He blushes, and she laughs.

“Come, I’m hungry.”

The next week passes by quickly with these visits from Yusuf, who teaches her how to wield a sword pretty well. He’s impressed at how quickly she picks it up. “It is like you were born to hold a sword.”

She snorts as they parry. “I don’t think so. I’ve had years of self defense classes that have helped me with balance. The sword is just an extra limb.”

They also go out to the mountains to shoot one day, when he learns she owns a gun. They hit bullseye for bullseye almost every time. He swears as he examines her marks. “You know, I need to talk to Ezio about you. Maybe you could help us.”

She blanches. “I don’t know, Yusuf. I don’t know if I could kill someone, unless it was in self defense.”

He pats her on the shoulder as they pack up to go home. “Everyone gets used to it in time, I think. But it’s your life, Sofia, and your choice. You are lucky.”

“So,” she says as they start the car, “you did not have a choice?”

He hums as he drives them down the winding road back to the city. “I had a choice, but my father was a part of,” he gestures to his cuff, “this, and so it just seemed natural that I would follow through. I cannot imagine life without it. Human nature, it surprises you. Laws and culture can fail, human nature does not.”

She nods, and thinks about what he’s said for a long time.

Two days later something goes terribly wrong. Yusuf is sipping coffee and reading in an armchair by the door as she goes through her inventory list when three young people rush into her shop. Yusuf immediately jumps out of his chair, and pulls out his sword, his coffee and book tumbling to the floor. “What is it?” he barks out in Turkish.

One of the three, a woman, pants back, “They are coming, Yusuf. We must go.”

But it is too late, because the glass of Sofia’s windows is shattering, and the three strangers are quickly taking defensive stances.

“Run, Sofia!” Yusuf yells as he, too, faces the windows. She is frozen for a moment, until there are armed men breaking through the doors and windows. The adrenalin starts pumping, and she quickly grabs the gun from where she stashes it under the counter, and bolts up the stairs. She’s about to throw open the door to the roof when someone grabs her from behind. She spins and aims a kick in the direction of his balls. A wheeze of pain lets her know she’s met her target, and she shoots the man a look of the utmost loathing before kicking him down the stairs. She feels nothing but satisfaction as he takes out two other agents on his way down. She throws open the door only to be met with six more armed guards. It’s a good thing she and Yusuf had gone shooting a few days before, so her muscle memory is refreshed.

She swears, takes aim, and fires, felling three before she is thrown against a wall and the gun goes flying. She struggles, only to be slapped across the face. “Do not make this harder than it needs to be,” he says in roughly accented English.

 _Russo_ , she thinks, fumbling in her pocket, and spits back at him in his own language, “умирают ублюдок,” before stabbing him in what she hopes is the carotid artery with one of the pens she usually keeps in her pocket.

“сука,” he roars, before squeezing her throat with one hand and trying to keep pressure on the wound with the other.

She is satisfied with how pale he is turning, and how weak the hand now is that’s on her neck. Using a move she learned from a woman in Cairo, she breaks his hold and kicks him down. She makes a break for the edge of the roof, before being tackled to the side. She hits her head and loses consciousness, her last thought being of Ezio, and how disappointed he would be.

She comes to in a cramped, damp room, deep underground. Her clothes are dirty, and she can’t seem to breathe right. She tries to stand, but sees her ankles are tied together, as well as her hands. She quickly scans the room for anything to break the ties, but there is nothing but the mat she woke up on. She then thinks she should try screaming, but quickly dismisses that thought. It never works, and she’d just be wasting her breath. There is also a slot in the bottom of the door, so she edges towards it. She wants to be somewhat ready if someone comes through. She waits for what seems like an eternity before it is finally thrown open. She has memorized what the room looks like, all the cracks in the ceiling, floor, and walls, but she will never, ever forget the face of the man who opens the door.

She is extremely surprised to find it is Ahmet Acar, first in line to inherit his father’s oil empire. He is a _mafioso_ of one of the biggest crime families in Turkey, and she wonders why he cares about her. “What I am doing here?” she demands in Turkish, once she gets over the shock.

His eyes are cold and dark, like a shark’s. He ignores her, and looks back to the doorway. “Mahmud! Bring the hood and rope!”

A tall, huge man comes in and tries to slip a cloth bag over her head. She bites at his hand, drawing blood until Ahmet kicks her. Her ribs flare with pain, and she thinks they’re probably severely bruised, if not broken.

She is gasping for air when the bag is tugged over her head again. She screams, and is thrown against the wall. For the second time in a short while, Sofia thinks she’s probably got a concussion, and passes out.

She comes to as she’s dangling from a tree in a courtyard of a large house. It’s gated, so she knows no one can see her. Her legs and arms have been untied, so she uselessly pulls at the noose around her neck. She can last three minutes without air, she thinks, and prepares to die. Tears well in her eyes when she thinks about everything she’s leaving behind. When will her parents know she’s no longer living? What will happen to the bookstore?

Suddenly, Ezio is crashing into the courtyard, meters from where she is. She tries to call out to him, but cannot get enough breath to do it. He stumbles to his feet, before flicking his wrist to unsheath a hidden blade within his cuff. She would be happy to know that’s why he and probably Yusuf wear them, if she were able to breath. His blade cuts through the rope easily though, and she falls to her knees and sends thanks to God.

“Are you alright, Sofia?” he asks urgently, trying to catch her.

She grips his arms so she’s somewhat standing. “Not hurt,” she says, coughing, “just confused.”

“I did not mean to drag you into this. I am sorry.” Ezio looks pained as he holds her upright, half-cradling her in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on her back.  
She is rubbing her neck where the noose was just moments ago. She is still seeing spots and feels numb as she tries to gasp for breath, on top of the ache from her ribs, but she still can’t bear his pain. She leans into him, and says hoarsely, “You are not responsible for the actions of other men.”

He looks anguished still so she presses her lips to his quickly. He grips her arms and kisses her passionately until her head is spinning again. Her fingers find their way into his hair, messy and no longer in the customary short ponytail he keeps it in. His hands tighten for a moment before he eases her away. “All of this will be over soon,” he says just as hoarsely as she had sounded a moment ago. “But I need to recover what they have taken.”

“I still don’t know what’s happening, or who these men are, but,” she tugs at his arm, much like she had during their first meeting, “come, I know how to catch up.”

Ezio supports her as she stumbles towards the small car she keeps parked in front of her shop, only a few blocks away from the courtyard where she was hung. Ezio insists on driving, so she curls up in the passenger’s seat as they race through the streets of the city she loves dearly. She wonders at first how he knows where to go, but she soon spots the suited scouts on top of the large buildings, fingers pointing towards what must be Ahmet. She lays her head on her knees as she pulls them to her chest and inhales deeply, finally regaining the full use of her lungs. She thinks her _amec_ would be proud, even though she’s almost died several times in the past month. She drinks in Ezio’s countenance and tries to push away the thoughts that, even though they’re rushing towards certain doom, she’s never felt safer.

It isn’t until they’re on the outskirts of the city that she realizes something it wrong.

“Ezio,” she says as she looks over her shoulder, “I think we’re being followed.”

His mouth is set in a grim line. “I know. They will not try anything until we get over the city limits, however. But then, Sofia, you’ll have to be ready to defend yourself. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Yes, actually, I...” She stops abruptly. “Ezio, where’s Yusuf? I would’ve thought he would be with you -”

He cuts her off. “You knew Yusuf?”

There is something hard in the line of his jaw. “He’s dead, isn’t her?” she asks, and when Ezio nods, she holds her hand out to him. “Give me a gun, Ezio. I know how to defend myself.”

He is about to hand it over to her when a smattering of bullets hit her side of the car. Her fingers clench the barrel of the 9mm in pain as she hisses, gripping her shoulder with her other hand.

“Are you hurt, Sofia?” Ezio demands, his head whipping around as he tries to look at her, at the black car they’ve been chasing, and at the road behind them all at the same time.

“Just a graze. I’ll be fine,” she manages to get out before she ducks to avoid the next round of bullets.

He looks worried, but there's little time for talk. “You have to drive now, Sofia, okay? Just follow the black car,” he says as he begins unfolding something from one of his many pockets. He straps it to his back with little effort before throwing open the driver’s side door.

She swears. “Ezio, what the fuck? Where are you going?”

“Watch the road!” is the only response she gets.

Grumbling and wincing at the pain movement causes in her shoulder, she grabs the wheel from him and slides his foot off the accelerator with her own. He slams the door shut as he climbs onto the roof of her car. She’s panicking because it’s only a small Fiat, and she doesn’t know how it’ll hold up to this adventure. Bullets fire at her again and the windows on the passenger side shatter, and she realizes she’s going to have to buy a new car.

There are shouts and yells as she chases the Ahmet’s car through the mountains around Istanbul. She doesn’t know where he’s planning on escaping to, but she won’t fail in this, not when Ezio and the memory of Yusuf are pressing on her. At least, she’s sure she won’t fail, until her car is pulled six inches to the side.

“Ezio!” she screams. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry, just keep driving!” His voice sounds thinner, and farther away.

She tears her eyes from the road to look in the rearview mirror, only to see Ezio gliding behind the car on a parachute of some kind. He’s attached to her car by a thin rope, and feels like she’s aged ten years by the sight.

“God, I know I’ve been a really bad Catholic, and haven’t gone to mass since Christmas, but please, if you let me, and Ezio, live, I promise I’ll start going to church again,” she begs as she swerves around another bend in the road.

A motorbike comes racing down the mountain to the right and she fumbles for the gun in her lap before Ezio swoops down and stabs him through the neck. “Keep your eyes on the road, Sofia!”

She swears at him in six different languages, but sees a chance and takes it. Knowing Ezio is gliding on the air behind her, and seeing a path that goes further up the mountain on her right than the regular road, where Ahmet’s car is, she sharply turns right and heads up the rougher road. Her car will definitely be dead by the time this is over, but they’ve got the drop, literally, on Ahmet now.

“Sofia, you are magnificent!” She hears Ezio yell as he cuts the rope tying him to the car and glides over to Ahmet’s. She pulls to a complete stop and goes tumbling out of the car, gun drawn, expecting to be met with a bunch of mercenaries. Ezio must have killed them all, because she only sees bodies and crashed motorbikes.  
There is no time to rest, however, and she goes scrambling down the mountain to where the black car has crashed. She can see in the distance two figures fighting on the edge of a cliff, swords drawn and clashing in the air, and runs as fast as she can. Her ribs are aching, lungs on fire, and she trips more than a few times, but she has to get to Ezio.

As she runs, a new car shows up, surrounded by more motorbikes, and for a moment she’s afraid they will try and kill Ezio, too. Instead, a lone figure approaches the two men, before throwing Ahmet off the cliff. She recognizes him as Selim, Ahmet’s younger brother, father to Suleyman, the mayor of Istanbul. It is not a real political position, but he does have a voice in the bigger politics of the city. There was a big fuss when he got elected, she remembers, because he came from such a family, and was still very young. He has been the best mayor they’ve had, however, and just as ruthless with the crimes of his family as anyone else would be. She certainly voted for him, and would do so again.

As she approaches, Selim is talking to Ezio. “If it weren’t for the good words my son has to say about you, you would be dead by now. But, he likes you, so you live, on the condition you leave Istanbul and never return.”

She sees what Ezio is about to do three seconds before he does it. She takes that time to throw herself in front of him, and steady the hand that holds his sword aloft. She can hear Selim laughing darkly behind her, but she doesn’t care.

“You did the right thing, Ezio,” she tells him as Selim walks away. His eyes are still trained on the other man’s back, so she drops her hand from his chest to intertwine their fingers, as her other hand slowly lowers the sword. “This is not your fight.”

He takes a step back from her to sheath his sword in the case that’s across his back, under his coat, just like Yusuf’s. Only Ezio’s jacket is certainly longer than Yusuf’s was, so she’s not too surprised she missed it. Sighing, he takes her hand again. “But where does one fight end and the other begin?”

She doesn’t respond, recognizing the rhetorical question as she sees it, and lets him lead her to the base of the mountain her car sits on. It is smoking and very obviously not in condition to be driven anywhere. She sighs. “Well, we definitely will not be getting back that way.”

“I will buy you a new one, don’t worry.” He looks at it critically. “A bullet-proof one.”

“I don’t need you to buy me a new car, Ezio,” she scoffs. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He looks down at her in amusement and amazement. “As I’ve seen today. You know how to shoot a gun?”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Auditore.” She winks and he laughs, brushing his shoulder with hers. She hisses at the pain.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot, Sofia, I’m so sorry.” He drops her hand to examine the bullet wound she’s sustained.

Now that they are not being actively chased down, Sofia can feel the adrenaline wearing off. She’s slightly dizzy and in pain, the aches she was feeling earlier coming back tenfold. On top of the bullet wound and other previously sustained injuries, there are pieces of glass embedded in her skin, and she’s sure she’s going to have severe bruising from her sprint down the mountain. Ezio doesn’t look much better, a couple of slices on his hands from the swordfight and cuts and scratches on his face. But his suit must be bulletproof, because there’s no glass sticking out of his skin. “Ezio, I’ll be fine. I just need to get the glass out, and to bandage the wound.”

He takes his jacket off and rips one of the sleeves of his shirt off. “We need to get you home.”

“Where’s home?” she asks, feeling more and more dizzy. She idly notices her shirt is soaked in her own blood.

He finishes wrapping her shoulder in his torn sleeve. “The bookstore? Unless you do not want to go back there. I would understand if you didn’t.”

“Isn’t it destroyed?” She sits on a rock as he examines the motorbikes strewn about for a usable one.

“My, ah, students, took care of it. And Suleyman was able to get the police out of there quickly, after the attack,” he explains as he walks a bike over to her.

The news that the mayor of Istanbul is pulling favors for him has her head spinning in a different way. “Ezio, I deserve an explanation about this whole thing,” she demands. “I have been shot at, kidnapped, hung, and my bookstore has been destroyed, as well as my car. You are not leaving me until I know why.”

His eyes are sad as he looks at her. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you again.” He holds his hand out to her so she can use it to help herself stand. “And I promise I will explain, once we’re home.”

“Good.” She nods, satisfied, as she straddles the motorbike. Ezio sits in front of her, and she laces her arms around his torso. “Now take us home.”

To her credit, she doesn’t fall asleep on the ride back to her _libreria_ , even though she really wants to. She’s still sort of out of it, but not enough that she doesn’t notice Ezio pull out a sleek black cell phone from one of his many pockets once he’s parked the motorbike behind her shop. He mutters a few quick words in Turkish, about a _dottore_ coming to the store, before hanging up.

She pokes him in the chest. “I thought you said you didn’t trust technology.” She’s slurring a little, but manages to get the point across.

He chuckles as he sweeps her up into his arms. “It’s one thing for me to use a specialized cell phone, and another for you to be using Google to try and decipher some well-guarded secrets.”

“Oh,” she says, as she lays her head on his chest. She glances around as he steps over the threshold of the _libreria_. “Okay, I am sufficiently impressed. You can’t even tell there was a fight here.”

The glass is repaired, and her shelves are back in order. There are no bloodstains or bulletholes, which surprises her immensely. He shifts her in his arms as he begins ascending the staircase. “My people are very good at what they do.”

“You still have not explained who exactly your people are, you know.” She closes her eyes as he opens the door to her apartment.

He hums as he makes his way to her bedroom. “I know, and I will, but sleep first, I think. A doctor is coming to look at you soon, but you can sleep for now. I’ll wake you up when she arrives.”

She feels the softness of her mattress underneath her, and sighs in contentment as Ezio drapes a blanket over her. In a brief moment of clarity, she grabs his wrist. “Ezio?”

“Hmm?” He pulls her desk chair over to the side of her bed.

“Where is Yusuf’s body?” she asks, shifting to lay on her side and look at him.

He frowns, and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Buried. I can take you to his grave when you feel better, if you want.”

“I would like that,” she says softly, as her eyes droop closed again. “Very much.”

That is her last clear memory until she wakes up three days later. She has a vague recollection of a _dottore_ , dressed in a suit very similar to Ezio’s, ask her questions and take her vitals, of occasionally being forced to eat soup and getting up to use the _bagno_ , but for the most part she falls into a dreamless sleep, which is a blessing after the ordeal she’s been through.

When she does wake, she is sore all over. She peels the covers off of her and gingerly removes the clothing she assumes either Ezio or the _dottore_ changed her into. There are gashes from the glass that are healing nicely, but most of her torso and legs are covered in bruises. She gingerly touches her throat and is not surprised to see it, too, hurts. Her shoulder is numb, and when she touches that, her hand comes away sticky, so she guesses someone must be putting some sort of ointment on it.

After she is done with her self-examination, she realizes Ezio is nowhere to be seen. “Ezio?” she calls out.

Silence meets her, and, after waiting a few beats for him to respond, swings her legs over the edge of her bed to look for him. Soon, she discovers he is nowhere to be found in her apartment, and sits down on her couch in an angry rage. She curses his name to high heaven, and tries to not succumb to her tears. His promises apparently mean nothing.

She might’ve spoken too soon, however, because not even fifteen minutes later, the door to her apartment opens, and Ezio is standing there, bags of groceries in his arms. “Sofia?”

Later, she’ll say she burst into tears because of the combination of the medication, pain, and stress, but really she does it because she’s just so relieved.

He doesn’t know why she’s crying, however, and rushes to her side, dropping all the grocery bags in the process. He crouches next to the couch. “Sofia? What’s wrong? Tell me, my love, where does it hurt?”

“I thought you were gone!” she cries as she flings her arms around his neck. “I didn’t - you didn’t even leave a note,” she hiccups.

She can tell he’s trying very hard not to laugh, from the way he bites the inside of his cheek as he brushes his thumbs over her cheeks, clearing away the tears that have fallen. “My heart,” he says as she finally stops crying, “I didn’t leave a note because I assumed you would still be sleeping. You have not woken up for three days, so I didn’t think a few hours would make a difference.” He scoops her up and whispers into her hair, “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

She’s calmed down enough that she knows she was being overly dramatic. “No, Ezio, it is I who am sorry. You’ve taken care of me, and my shop, and here I am, crying over nothing.”

“You wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me.” He frowns as he sets her down on the bed, hovering over her as he fluffs her pillows. “This is my fault.”

“Ezio,” she says softly, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her, “as I told you, you are not responsible for the actions of other men. And anyways,” she drops her hand and sits up, suppressing a wince, “even though I am in pain and injured right now, I would not trade the past couple of months for anything.”

“Truly?” His eyes twinkle down at her, a soft smile gracing his face.

“Truly,” she responds, with a smile of her own. “Now,” she pats the space next to her on the bed, “I think you promised me an explanation or two?”

He chuckles. “I should probably take care of the food first.”

“Oh, right.” Her stomach grumbles loudly. “Actually…”

He laughs this time, loudly. “I will explain once I’m done cooking, yes?”

“That sounds perfect.” She then tugs on his arm again. "Ezio, come here."

He bends over her, and she laces her fingers behind his neck to leverage herself to press a kiss to his mouth. He tries to keep it soft and slow, and she's content with that, at first, with the sweet sweep of his lips against hers, their breath intermingling, noses brushing against each other as they take comfort in one another's presence. Soon, though, she is drawing his bottom lip into her mouth, and he responds by licking at the inside of her mouth. Her hands move to fist into his hair, and she starts to feel heat pooling low in her belly. The sounds she is making are obscene, and Ezio seems very enthusiastic about them. But then he moves his hands to clutch her sides, and she hisses in pain.

"I am so sorry, Sofia." He pulls back abruptly.

"Sorry for the pain? Or the kiss?" She frowns at him.

"The pain. I really liked the kissing part." He grins at her widely. "Perhaps we could try that again when you're feeling better?"

She wishes they could continue now, but accepts making out and/or having sex while she's bruised and battered is probably a bad idea. "Most definitely. We will have to try it many, many times." He is smiling, and so is she, but she feels like she ruins the mood by yawning. "Oh, excuse me!"

He laughs. “Maybe you should take a nap while I cook?” He pulls a blanket over her. “Sleeping for three days is very tiring.”

“Very funny,” she grumbles, but burrows under the covers anyways, taking care of her bruised ribs. “Wake me up when there is food.”

He chuckles again, and presses a kiss to her forehead before heading into her kitchen. She could certainly get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Learning Languages with BookPirate!
> 
> famiglia = family (Italian)
> 
> Orgoglio e Pregiudizio = Pride and Prejudice (Italian)
> 
> libreria = bookstore (Italian)
> 
> dottore = doctor (Italian) 
> 
> Amca = uncle (Turkish)
> 
> elma çay = apple tea (Turkish)
> 
> In bocca al lupo, caro = literally, "in the mouth of the wolf, dear", but it's more like 'good luck' in Italian
> 
> Crepi il lupo, papa. Ti amo. = literally, "kill the wolf, dad. i love you", but the first part is just what you say back to the 'good luck' in Italian
> 
> Merhaba! Beni yardıma ihtiyacınız varsa bize bildirin! = basically, 'welcome! let me know if you need help with anything' in Turkish
> 
> Grazie mile! = Many thanks! (Italian)
> 
> postane = post office (Turkish)
> 
> Hussein’in Kitapçı = Hussein's Bookstore (Turkish)
> 
> athan = call to prayer for Muslims in Arabic
> 
> Cos'è questo? = What's this? (Italian)
> 
> Salute = basically 'cheers' in Italian
> 
> Russo = Russian (Italian)
> 
> умирают ублюдок = die bastard (Russian)
> 
> сука = bitch (Russian)
> 
> mafioso = gangster (Italian)
> 
> bagno = bathroom (Italian)
> 
> A/N: Shout-out to EA for making a game that doesn't suck and an awesome female character, my roommates for putting up with my video game addiction, and you for reading this! I translated all the words that weren't place names, so if you have any questions about any of the places I mentioned, don't be afraid to ask. I've been to every place mentioned (except for Sofia's bookstore which is sadly fictional, but whatever. Deal with what you've got). I'm planning on adding some drabbles later, about their life in the aftermath, but for now I'm pretty happy with this. I hope you are, too!
> 
> Title is from 'Wild Heart' by the Vamps


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